Carrot Cake
by Bananarawrz
Summary: Balthier's known for his progress as a sky pirate... Not his cooking skills.


**((Disclaimer: As much as I want to own Vaan's finely clothed chest... Well, actually, he doesn't have many clothes up there... As much as I want that, do you think I do? Here's where everyone shouts out a resounding 'NO!'. ... If you didn't understand that, how 'bout this? I dun own Final Fantasy XII or anything associated with it.))**

**Author's Note: Um. Enjoy? And I know Fran smiles too much in this...**

* * *

_Final Fantasy XII_

_Carrot Cake_

* * *

"I… I dare not to believe this…"

Fran smiled inwardly when she saw the results of the dice toss. That was two wins for her, and only one for Balthier. Their match was over, and now for the terms of their bet…

"I get one wish. To be granted by you. Is that not correct?" asked the Viera, her beautifully-accented voice holding the smallest note of victory.

Balthier shrugged, obviously unhappy.

"Yes, but it has to be within my power, my dear partner."

Fran let loose a small, rare, outward smile. It was hard to believe that winning a simple bet would result in the chaotic plan forming in her mind. It was also hard to believe that she was having this much fun just _thinking_ of it.

"You. You must be my slave. For the day."

"But Fran--!"

"No buts. You must complete the tasks that I set for you. Otherwise, you give me ten-thousand gil."

Balthier grimaced, his lips trembling slightly. He could only guess what she'd have him do. It was sure to be cruel, complex, and nearly impossible.

"First… I wish for you… To prepare me a meal. One that shall please me."

Oh, it was all of those thing and more.

"In fact… Prepare for me a treat. You should know that which pleases me."

_Damn_.

He didn't even know that Fran ate.

"Fran, my dear," smirked Balthier, an hour and a half later. He was covered with flour, batter, spilled vanilla, and a few egg whites that were dripping down his nose, thanks to a rather controversial incident that only he and the paid-off Nono would ever know the true events of. "My orders shall be completed in just a few minutes."

Fran looked up from where she was lounging on her bed, long legs dangling off of the silken material that covered it. Out of all the Strahl's resting rooms, hers was the most extravagant (thanks to Balthier losing yet another bet to her).

"In that case, I would also—"

Balthier braced himself for another verdict, but her words were cut off by a rather loud bang coming from the direction of the kitchen.

"Is that not…?"

"Well, I believe that we are now likely short an adorable moogle. Should we go and try to salvage his remains?" Balthier's smooth voice masked the slight worry he felt. If Nono had blown up... Well, that would be a rather disappointing mess in the kitchen. That he would have to clean up.

Upon reaching the… well, kitchen isn't quite appropriate…

Upon reaching the _remains_ of the kitchen, Balthier and Fran stood in openmouthed wonder.

The moogle (or possibly Balthier, since no one really knew what _exactly_ he had put into the cake mixture) had succeeded in blowing the kitchen up into a mess of green sludge and gray smoke. All of which had a decidedly acrid smell, of course.

And standing there in the middle of the kitchen, a small fire smoldering on his Pompom, stood a coughing Nono.

"Pah," came the pathetic whimper.

Balthier chuckled until Fran's tired voice was heard.

"You two shall clean."

Balthier's laughter died in his throat.

And now, my dear readers, I shall have to conclude this story. Mostly because Balthier is afraid of what comments you shall make upon his pink cleaning apron Vaan bought him as a joke.

And before you ask, yes, it reads, "I put the _sex _in _sexy._"

"Fran. I never gave you that treat."

"Yes…?"

And, much to the disappointment of millions of BalthierxFran shippers around the world, he simply produced a gilded platter of carrots, instead of himself in the glory of nudity.

"As the only salvageable part of the carrot cake I attempted to bake, you'll simply have to suffice yourself with these. Now excuse me while I return to cleaning the disaster zone."

Fran watched as he left; his tightly-clothed butt swayed slightly with each step.

She then dumped the carrots out the porthole, hoping they wouldn't get stuck in the engine or some other like place. She'd be the one to fix it and explain the incident to Balthier.

"Fool," she smiled, "You should know by now of the fact that I'm allergic."


End file.
